Dumbledore's Appearance
by Madstamoo
Summary: Harry has just witnessed the funeral of Dumbledore. He has been short with Schrimegour. He has just told Ron and Hermione that he will not be returning to Hogwarts. Please make sure that you have read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and every book before it.


Harry was awfully depressed. Not like the time when he had detentions from Umbridge. Not even similar to the endless pit in his stomach, left as a result of Sirius' death. This was an unbearable, unbreakable horror. Harry would never see Dumbledore again, studying him through his half-moon spectacles, secretly favouring him.

After the somewhat treacherous funeral of Albus Dumbledore, Harry ventured back to Hogwarts on his own, taking in the earthly scent of the old castle building, it's two towers reaching forever upward, pointing toward the heavenly blue. Just as well the sky was blue today, thought Harry. He thought he could not take it if the lack of speech-makers and recognition of Dumbledore was topped off with a storm.

Harry made the decision to walk through the whole school for most likely the last time, and take in everything that held memories; the corridor that Fred and George covered with undoable slime before they left Hogwarts for ever, the Room of Requirement where the DA meetings were held, the airy, fragranced room where Trelawney so often predicted Harry's death, the Great Hall where every meal was held, and finally, Dumbledore's office.

As Harry walked into the mystical room, he delighted in closing his eyes and listening to the steady whirring of Dumbledore's strange gadgets, noticing the whispers of interest from the other portraits watching Dumbledore's newly painted portrait sleeping. Something golden caught Harry's eye; there in the corner of the room, on a small nest of twigs and leaves woven with gold, was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.

Harry could feel his eyes burning; there sat the last living piece of Dumbledore. With shaking hands, Harry reached over and picked Fawkes carefully off her nest- to uncover four oval shaped eggs, glowing softly golden in the unlit room. Four perfect, perfect eggs, thought Harry. He was instantly compelled to look after these eggs, to look after Fawkes until the day she went up in flames for the last time. This was the only true part of Dumbledore left. Harry realised that he needed to take the eggs and hide them, before they were taken away to a conservatory, or worse.

In his haste to take Fawkes and the nest up to the boy's dormitory, Harry tripped over Dumbledore's armchair, awakening the portraits that had gone to sleep. 'Sorry,' he mumbled, and headed towards the door.

'I think you'll find that Fawkes and her eggs are quite safe with me, Harry,' came an all-too-familiar voice. Harry turned warily, and scanned the room. No one was there, he was sure of that.

'Over here, Harry. On the wall.'

Before he could respond, before he could even turn around, Harry felt a penny drop inside his memory. Pictures and remembrance came flooding back to him, filling his heart with light and happiness; memories of Dumbledore talking to portraits of past Headmasters, sending messages through the paintings on his wall, a sneaky invisible portrait snarling rude comments about mud-bloods, and praising Slytherin and his descendants. Why had he not thought of it before? How had he not seen it when Dumbledore's portrait was hung on the wall?

Harry let his gaze meet Dumbledore's. He could not help what he did next; he let all his feelings tumble out of his mouth. Out came all the things Harry had so feared he would never get to say to his headmaster. The loss that everyone had felt when Dumbledore fell of Gryffindor tower. Dumbledore laughed, and surveyed Harry like he always did, over his spectacles.

'I am rather ashamed not to have realised myself,' said Dumbledore in his usual calm, collected tone. 'I will surely miss walking the halls of my school, though. Maybe you could take me through the school one day.'

'I-I most definitely will, Professor,' stuttered Harry. He was still trying to figure out how best to hug a portrait.

'Now, I must go and visit the Fat Lady in her portrait. She _will_ be surprised… Before I go, though, there are further matters to discuss, Harry. This is going to come as a shock to you. I want you to have this school. I am passing it down to you.'

'But, sir, you are still here, still able! You are the best wizard I have ever met, the best teacher, the best everything! I will do whatever it takes to keep this place up and running. Anything and everything!' promised Harry, with a determined expression.

Dumbledore suddenly became very softened, and Harry noticed tears streaming down his lined face.

'Harry, let me tell you something. You may think that I am the greatest wizard you have ever met. Although, you see, I could say the same about you. I need you, Harry. I know that this school needs me. You are my only way of making things capable. As you have surely noticed, I cannot walk outside of this frame.' Dumbledore tried to stick his hand out of the canvas, to show Harry that he was trapped in paint.

Dumbledore's blackened hand went straight through the canvas.


End file.
